My Balls
by thegreatbluespoon
Summary: You CSIs come to this bowling alley, wear purple shoes, get drunk, flirt with the waitress, argue about Ninja Turtles, play to determine who has to go to work wearing something they don't want to, and use great, plot ruining sentences like this often?


This story is based on a life-altering experience I had just last week. No need for a pity party because it kicked ass.

TDCSI, I can't thank you enough for your help with certain things on this story (oh, the giggles). Thanks to kakidoll for the beta (kinda weird typing that after so long). But the biggest thanks is a combined one to them both for helping with my lame crisis that I'm having. Why the hell you deal with me, Idk, but I thank ya both dearly.

This would've been up for Brooke Greene's birthday on Sunday, but 74 inches of ice (prove I'm exaggerating, I dare you) kicked IL's ass. So…happy belated to her crazy Canadian self, and the ice can suck it because it's not snow.

I reposted this because the site sucks balls. (Get it?!)

* * *

Everyone's usual fetish for ethics having gone out the window about hour ago, the conversation that Sara now listened to mainly consisted of things like "I ain't sayin' Leonardo was _better_ than Michelangelo, Nick, I'm just sayin' that _maybe_…you know, Leo'd prolly kick his turtle ass."

As the only sober person in the lot, she was also the only person wishing that the top-heavy, flirty waitress would stop bringing the pitchers of beer when the previous ones ran dry.

Sitting in a cold plastic chair, that many a teen had taken the time to carve their undying love to their high school sweetheart into, Sara patiently waited her turn. Her team, tastelessly named Bug Nutz, consisted of herself, Grissom and Nick. Their hardcore competition, the Ball Huggers, consisted of Catherine, Warrick and Greg.

Why she'd ever thought that Greg's idea for bowling had been a good one, and then had gone and supported it full force, it was now beyond her as she listened to him argue his Ninja Turtle knowledge with Nick over a half-empty glass.

"And you don't go dowatin' the," he paused to do mock kung-fu with his hands, sloshing beer the whole time. "skilllllls, Nick-o-ass…um, Nick-o-_lass_. 'Cause d-d-d-dowatin' is whats gets your whoa-man self hurt, buddy. Donatello was even _betta _anyway!"

"Call me a chick agains, and I'll shove this ball up your ass," Nick threatened over the row of seats that separated them.

Greg's threat back to him was cut off by Warrick. "Guys! Hey, guys…look!" he laughed.

When everyone did turn to look, Warrick was moon walking…or, rather, trying to moon walk. Actually, he was doing pretty well, considering.

"It still works in stiff bowlin' shows…I mean shoes," he said as he continued to display his fine skills that earned applause from the small crowd in the lanes around them.

And that was one more thing Sara wasn't too fond of: _her shoes. _

Hers, by far the most hideous and tacky looking of the bunch, with their neon pink shoestrings accenting the glittery purple right half that offset the gory green left…well, she hated them. Everyone else had normal looking shoes on, some combination of silver, blue and maroon, and she had Barbie's worst nightmare. Had Grissom not taken more time than a teen princess to get ready before they left the house, maybe she would have been able to get normal shoes, too. But _nooo_.

So she sat there, clacking them against the legs of the uncomfortable chair, listening to balls hitting pins, spending half her time checking out how odd half-wasted people looked in the glow of black lights on a Saturday night, and the other half looking for the skin-baring waitress who should have had their food on the table ten minutes ago.

Just as she saw the woman walk out of the kitchen, Grissom threw himself into the seat next to her. The man looked funny as hell in a black light.

"_Hi_," he purred at her with an ear-to-ear grin on his face.

She smiled nervously and said hello back.

Pulling on his shirt collar, he said, "It's _hot_ in here."

"Well, it's not cold," Sara agreed.

"Eh."

She laughed and asked, "Do you need something, Gil?"

"Nah," he said and shook his head. "You don't care that I'm drinking, do you? I'll stop. Right now, I'll stop."

Laughing again, she said to him, "I told you already that I didn't care. Besides, I really don't think stopping would matter at this point."

Grissom didn't hear what she'd just said because, like most every other guy in the building (except for the 'questionable' ones), he was looking at the waitress as she put their food on the table.

"Gil?"

Nothing.

"Grissom?!"

"Uh, yeah?"

"We were talking," she said, a little attitude showing in her voice.

He slurred back, "Yeah, but someone should tell her she needs to cover all that up. It's probably not sinatanitary, you know?"

She laughed a little at herself, realizing she should have known the whole time that he was just being Grissom and not a normal guy right then, and stood up. Reaching a hand out and helping him up, she told him just to take it easy on the beer, and all would be fine.

Joining everyone else at the table, they dug into the pizza, nachos, chili cheese fries, and beer (soda for Sara, who'd lost in the designated driver coin toss) that were there for the feast. Amazed at what people allowed themselves to eat when they were drunk, all couldn't help but laugh when Catherine poured her fries over her nachos, and then spread that mess over a slice of pizza before attempting to shove a massive bite into her mouth.

"Awryouwaffiname?" Catherine asked through a mouthful.

"No, no," they all said and bit into their food again before more laughs came out.

A few more minutes into the self-gorging fun, Greg decided that more heckling was in order.

"Your team sucks, Sara."

She rolled her eyes and ignored it.

"Su-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-" he broke for a drink. "u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-"

Unable to ignore _that_, she yelled, "Greg! I get it; we lost the first game to you guys."

"Hells yeah you did!"

"But it doesn't matter, Greg. It's best of three," she reminded him. "We kick your drunk ass in the next one, then in the third, and guess who has to walk into the lab next shift wearing-"

"Hey! We ain't a'gonna lose!"

"Pfft, okay," Nick snorted and pointed at Greg with a fry. "Bug Nutz'll kill ya, you lame-assed Ball Huggers!" he announced with a laugh, remembering the drunken wit they'd used to name each other's teams.

"Oh yeah?!"

"Yeah!"

"Soons as I eat this food, I'll show you why I been an honorary member of the TMNT fan club since I was eight."

"Greg, the Ninja Turtles weren't around when you were eight," Sara chided.

"S'why it's an honor," he scoffed at them all.

"Whatever, just eat your food."

He did as Sara told him to, but she had to keep an eye on him the whole time, as he was kicking Nick under the table and she had to act as a mother to the two of them, telling them to stop every two seconds before they spilled the drinks.

When they were all adequately full, and done laughing at Nick (whose lap was now covered in cheese sauce that'd been spilled when he wouldn't quit kicking Greg as directed), they went back to the game.

Four frames into it and Sara couldn't believe what was happening.

Apparently the more sloshed Grissom was, the better he was at bowling. With every chug of beer he took, disappointed groans erupted shortly after. The only problem was that Greg was just as much of a drunken bowling savant as Grissom was.

With Catherine being too worried about her 'gorgeous nails, you ignorant bitches' to throw the ball properly, she would simply take the ball in both hands, stagger up to the end of her team's lane, squat down and push the thing as hard as she possibly could towards the pins. Since everyone was so tipsy, Sara had suggested halfway through the first game that they put the bumpers up, so Catherine's tries were actually scoring some points every now and then.

Warrick, too busy trying to moon walk and perform other Michael Jackson-esque dance maneuvers to pay full attention to what he was doing with the ball, was the lowest scoring person on the Ball Huggers team.

Nick, God love the lil fella, he sure was trying his hardest, but with Greg yelling his insults about how Leo would straight-up rock Michelangelo's world every single time it was Nick's turn to throw the ball, well, that crossed with deep inebriation just wasn't making for a high score on his part.

Never having been the highlight of any team she'd played on at any time in her life, Sara was doing her damndest to kick ass now. Nick was busy coming up with insults against Greg, so with Grissom as her only supporter against Greg's jeers, Catherine's 'I never noticed how fat your ass is, Sara!' and Warrick trying to distract her with even more dance moves, she figured she was doing pretty well, considering the company she had.

By the time the tenth frame came around, her team was far enough ahead that it didn't really matter what she or Grissom threw. Greg, who was busy trying to out-flirt Nick with the whorish waitress when she came back for the umpteenth time that night to refresh their drinks, was up again, but he didn't really care since he knew his team was screwed that round.

"Greg? Gre-e-e-e-g? GREG!?"

Sara was calling, but Greg wasn't caring.

"I think…honey, I think you gotta get 'im," Grissom suggested with smile.

One frustrated sigh and roll of the eyes later, and Sara was out of her seat, clearly on a mission. Walking up to the three at the table, she gave her best fake smile and turned to Greg. "Gregory, what did the doctors tell you about speaking to people in public?" She then looked at Nick. "And Nicholas, what did the judge tell _you_?"

The waitress' face went blank as she looked between the three of them. When Sara gave her a 'sad, but true' nod, she took off as fast as her fake boobs would let her.

"Sssara!" Greg whined. "Ugh! What was _that_!?"

"It's your turn," she laughed and went back to sit next to Grissom again.

"Fuh-ine!" Greg yelled as he walked up to his lane. "I can't even…I can't…I just…ugh."

"What was that, Greg?" Sara laughed.

"Nothing!" he snapped and went about trying to pick which one of his balls to use.

Greg was the only one that had two balls. One was orange, and the other blue. The orange one, a little on the girly side (so said his teammate, Catherine) at eight pounds, was used when he felt the need to 'open a hefty can of bowling whoop-ass on the old guy.' The blue one, weightier at an even twelve pounds, was used to simply 'demolish all that stands in his way when the girly ball just will not do' (again, per Catherine).

Deciding that the blue would do, he grabbed it up, announced that the shininess of it in the black light reminded him of Ecklie when he gets _really_ mad, and shook it on his hand a few times.

"Did you touch my balls?" Greg asked them all.

"Ew," Nick laughed.

"No, for really. Did you guys touch my balls?" he asked again. "It feels lighter."

"No one touched your balls, Greg. Just go," Sara told him.

"No one touched your balls, Greg," he mocked in a high tone. "Not with you around, ya-"

"Greg!"

"Fine!"

He stepped up, took a few practice swings, did his lucky prayer (trust, on everything holy in this world, that you _don't_ want to know), took a deep breath and five giant steps forward (all while being proud that he didn't fall over), and threw the ball. Watching it roll and roll, Greg and team cheered the ball on as it stayed in the middle of the lane, never veering to either side.

Though it really didn't matter, because his team would've needed five more just like it in order for it to amount to anything special, Greg's ball had knocked down every pin. With the score now one-one, it was _so_ on in round three.

Since he was unable to both argue Turtle _and_ bowl, Nick was put on beer duty. Whenever Greg got a beer, any time he turned his back on it, Nick was to drink as much of it as he could since Greg bowled better with more alcohol in him.

Grissom…well, he was simply supposed to maintain hotness, drunkenness, and kickassness at bowling for Sara.

Sara continued to babysit everyone as best as she could, all while bowling her best, _and_ arguing with Greg, the self-proclaimed Ninja Turtle genius, that Leo was blue and Raphael was red, not the other way around.

By frame five, trouble was a'brewing. Nick, who Sara was relatively certain she'd caused liver damage to by then, was unable to keep up with all the beer Greg was drinking. He'd started pouring some into Grissom's glass to help them and hinder Greg, but it just wasn't working that well.

The Bug Nutz were two strikes behind the Ball Huggers, and Sara knew that could change quickly, with as well as Greg was throwing. Something had to be done, and it had to be done fast.

Moving into the sixth frame, Catherine totally screwed up her throw when Warrick pinched her ass, and Warrick messed up his when Catherine whispered something in his ear and some sort of confusion had him throwing the ball straight down the gutter, regardless of the bumpers.

Inspiration hit Sara and she whispered to Grissom that he had nothing to worry about before she left her seat.

Deciding between orange and blue, Greg didn't see Sara get up and move to him.

Picking orange and grabbing it up, Greg did see Sara smile at him.

Smiling back at her and turning to get ready for his throw, Greg did feel her sneak _right_ up next to him.

"What's she doin'?" Catherine asked.

Warrick shook his head. "I dunno… but I don't not like it."

"Greg," Sara said sweetly. "Why'd you pick the orange one?"

"Simply a simple matter of simplistics," he slurred.

Not having a clue about what he'd just said, she smiled and nodded. "Oh, well, that makes sense. No wonder you're winning."

"S'cause we're _awesome_s," he happily told her. "Really real awesome."

"Oh?"

"Mmm-hmm." He nodded heavily. "I'm sorry you'll gotta go to work like that, but betsa bet, right?"

"Yup," she smiled again.

"You gotta pretty smile. Grittom's a lucky guy," he whispered, so Grissom wouldn't hear and come kick his ass.

"Right. But, Greg, you could be lucky, too," she whispered back.

Eyes going as wide as his current state would allow, he asked, "Whassat mean!?"

"I mean…" she leaned in and whispered in his ear.

Catherine and Warrick looked at each other, worried about the imminent corruption of their teammate.

When Sara was done, she pulled back and Greg literally squeaked out a gasp. "Nu-uh!"

"Yes."

"Nu-nu-uh!"

She nodded. "_Yes_."

"Me and…?"

"Promise."

Greg nodded adamantly.

"But only if you promise to do your very, very best, Greg."

"I do," he said, still nodding. "I will!"

Knowing her job was done, Sara went back to sit with Nick and Grissom.

Greg, still positively shocked about what had just been promised to him, stepped up and did his routine of practice swings, prayer, and deep breathing before he finally took the five steps he normally took in his regular bowling bit.

But he screwed up.

The ball went straight to the right, bounced off the side and shot to the left. From there it was like watching pinball as the orange ball never found its way to a pin before it got to the gutter at the end.

Turning to Sara, Greg swore that he did his best, that he was just…just flustered right then. "All I need is the next round!" he told her. "The next one! I promise!"

She nodded her approval and turned to Nick with a devious smile. "You can stop slamming beer, buddy. I think we'll be alright now, so long as Griss can keep it up."

Because Greg's promise of a comeback never did come true (since every time it looked like it would, Sara's promises found their way to his ear again), Catherine and Warrick had to pick their game up. By the time the end of the game was near, it was a close one.

Knowing that they needed Grissom to get another strike in order for them to get their 'two out of three' win, Sara figured a little encouragement surely couldn't hurt the man any. With him, sweet nothings in the ear always had the opposite effect as what they'd had on Greg.

Rushing from her seat over to Grissom, she stopped him from throwing the ball just in time to whisper promises of positively wonderful things to come if, and only if, he were to throw a strike. She whispered words so amazing in his ear before she walked away that he actually dropped the ball in shock.

Taking her seat again, the grin on her face stayed there as she watched him pick the ball back up and shake his head to get his mind back in the game.

The whole team of Ball Huggers yelled their 'you suck!' encouragements at him, but with Sara's words weighing on his mind, they didn't matter in the least bit.

Walking up to where he'd been starting at all night, Grissom stopped, turned his head to face Sara, shook his ass a little, received a wink and a holler for it from her (and a few of the older ladies in the crowd), then went about scoring the winning strike for his team.

"OH!" Greg groaned. "My balls suck!"

When Sara was able to pull her face away from Grissom's drunken celebratory kiss, she told Greg that a promise was a promise. She knew he tried his hardest, so she took his hand and led him over to where the waitress was.

"Hi," Sara said politely. "This is Greg Sanders. What I said earlier was a joke. He's an awesome guy, especially when he's sober. If he can't, I can give you his number."

"How _you_ doin'?" Greg slurred at her.

"Greg, this is _not_ the time," Sara muttered to him.

The waitress didn't immediately give in, which gave her a hell of a lot of points in Sara's book, but she eventually smiled, nodded, and their numbers were exchanged soon after.

Walking away, Greg complained that Sara had promised that she'd make-out with the waitress, but Sara told him that must have been a figment of his drunken imagination, because she'd _never_ say anything like that just for a win at bowling.

Back with the rest of the group, everyone agreed that Sara and Grissom would go get the shirts made sometime during the day on Monday, and the losing Ball Huggers would flaunt them around the lab on Monday night. Congratulations were made, as were jokes about Greg actually having two balls, and everyone headed out, eager to get out of the tacky, germ-filled, borrowed shoes.

"Sara," Catherine sighed as they piled into the car. "You-your ass isn't fat. It's betters than mine and I was just sayin' all that to make you screw up."

"Of course you were, Cath."

--

Atwater and Ecklie decided they would let the sexual harassment claims slide on all three counts when it came to Greg, Catherine, and Warrick, all walking around the lab wearing purple shirts with neon pink letters that said 'Bug Nutz-2 Ball Huggers-1; their balls were better than ours'

* * *

Yeah, I had the great pleasure of bowling with drunks. I recommend you all do it no more than once in your lives because it really is an experience.

You know I'm greedy, so let's try that whole review thing again, shall we… (And then develop some manners and tell Brooke Greene happy belated, dammit.)

thegreatbluespoon


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